After returning home, Sarah stumbles upon her younger brother’s hidden USB drive, which reveals disturbing footage of their mother’s odd behavior at night. Now, they must confront her denials and seek help before their family falls apart.
The six-hour drive back to my hometown left me exhausted and with an empty coffee cup, but I was doing it for a reason—Mom’s call the day before.
“Sarah, I need some help around the house,” she had said, her voice shaky.
She hadn’t said much more, but I could sense the urgency in her tone. I packed my bag, took some vacation days from work, and left before sunrise.
Our suburban neighborhood looked unchanged. The same oak trees lined the streets, and the houses had well-kept lawns. Elaine, our old neighbor, still had her garden gnome collection, and her husband’s classic Mustang sat in the driveway, still waiting for a restoration that would never happen. It was reassuring to see things had remained so constant.
The key to the house was still under the ceramic frog, right where it always had been. I stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of lavender air freshener mixed with something stale—like the house hadn’t been aired out in weeks.
“Mom?” I called as I dropped my overnight bag in the entryway.
She appeared from the laundry room, looking smaller than I remembered, with dark circles under her eyes, which she tried to cover up with makeup.
“Sarah! I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said, pulling me into a quick hug before quickly turning to straighten some mail on the counter.
The house felt unusually quiet. Normally, I would hear my brother’s music or video games from upstairs.
“Where’s Caleb?” I asked.
Her shoulders stiffened. “He’s staying with his dad for a while. We had a disagreement.”
“What about?”
“Teenager stuff,” she waved her hand dismissively, not meeting my eyes. “Always making a big deal out of nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what do you need help with?”
“Well, I need help cleaning up and getting some things from the attic to donate,” she said, rubbing her lower back. “My back’s been bothering me, and I can’t do it alone.”
“Let me guess, Caleb didn’t want to help, and that’s why you fought?” I asked.
“Yeah, something like that,” she muttered, avoiding my gaze. “Speaking of Caleb, can you clean his room? He never does it.”
“Sure,” I said, going to get cleaning supplies from the laundry room.
Caleb’s room was a mess, which I expected. He was 16 now, and I hadn’t lived at home for almost eight years, so I didn’t know him that well anymore.
He was into gaming, but I didn’t realize it had taken over his room with posters. His clothes were strewn all over, and the smell… well, it was unmistakably teenage boy.
I started tidying up his bookshelf when my elbow knocked over a ceramic vase, shattering it on the floor. As I knelt to clean up the mess, I found a small black USB drive.
I smiled and called Caleb. When he answered, I teased, “Guess what I found in your room? Your deepest, darkest secrets are about to be exposed!” I laughed, then mentioned I’d broken his collectible and found the drive.
Instead of a typical plea to keep it secret, Caleb’s voice turned serious. “MAKE SURE YOU LOOK AT WHAT’S ON THE FLASH DRIVE!” His tone was urgent. “It’s important, Sarah.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.
“Just watch it,” he said. “Please.”
“Okay, okay,” I replied, hanging up, a sense of unease creeping over me.
Before I could check the drive, my mom called from downstairs. “Sarah, come help me in the kitchen.”
“Sure,” I said, slipping the USB into my pocket and pushing the thought of it aside.
That night, I woke to strange noises—voices and shuffling sounds echoing through the house. It was 1:30 AM, and I tried to convince myself it was nothing. Maybe the house settling. Or the neighbor’s cat.
At breakfast, I decided to ask, “Mom, did you hear any weird noises last night? Like faint sounds?”
Her response was instant and furious. She slammed her hand on the table, coffee spilling. “You’re a grown woman! Why are you listening to Caleb?!”
I stared at her, confused. “What are you talking about? What’s Caleb got to do with this?”
Her face flushed red. “First him, now you’re in on the joke? It’s not funny!”
“What joke?” I asked, bewildered.
“Enough! I don’t want to hear another thing about noises at night!” she snapped.
I tried calling Caleb again, but his phone went straight to voicemail. That’s when I remembered the USB drive. Rushing to my laptop, I opened the files.
Dozens of videos appeared, all from the past month—shots of different rooms in the house at night, like the living room, hallway, and kitchen. At first, nothing seemed out of place, but then I clicked on one from last Tuesday at 1:45 AM. I saw movement—a shadow in the hall.
A person stepped into the living room. I leaned in closer. It wasn’t an intruder. It was Mom. She stood motionless, her head tilted in a strange way, moving slowly, unnaturally. After a few minutes, she turned and struck herself on the back, then walked off to her room.
I jumped when my phone rang. It was Caleb.
“Did you watch it?” he asked, no greeting.
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “Did you show this to Mom?”
“She wouldn’t let me,” he laughed bitterly. “That’s why I left. She wouldn’t take me seriously about the noises.”
“I asked her about it, and she went crazy,” I sighed. “She wouldn’t explain anything.”
“But you saw it, right? The way she moves? It’s weird, and she’s hurting herself, but it’s accidental,” Caleb said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, now realizing her back pain made sense. “We need to do something.”
I spent the rest of the day reading about sleepwalking and its treatments. That evening, I found her in the kitchen, aggressively stirring a pot of sauce.
“Mom, do you ever sleepwalk?” I asked, deciding to confront her directly.
She scoffed, “This again? No. You and Caleb are just making things up.”
“I have proof,” I said, opening my laptop.
“I don’t want to see that nonsense,” she replied, focused on the sauce.
“Please, Mom,” I said, stepping closer and pushing the laptop toward her. “Just watch.”
She couldn’t avoid it anymore. As the video played, I watched her face drain of color, her hands trembling.
“I don’t remember that,” she whispered.
“There are more, Mom,” I said softly. “Caleb put cameras in the house because he was worried about you.”
“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I thought he was just being dramatic.”
I wrapped her in a hug. “Don’t worry. Caleb’s coming home tomorrow, and we’ll figure this out together.”
When Caleb arrived, Mom apologized for their fight. Over the next few weeks, we went to doctor’s appointments and sleep studies. We learned about sleep disorders and their treatments.
The cameras came down as Mom started therapy, but what replaced them was trust. She learned to rely on us, even Caleb.
I decided to apply for a transfer to a branch closer to home, not moving back in but getting an apartment nearby. It felt better being close enough to help when needed. Family always comes first, after all.
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